Damned If I Do Part 18

Randall went back to his neighborhood and from a couple of blocks away he could see that things weren't quite right. There were two cops standing on the sidewalk across the street from his building.

He found another pay phone, this one in the back of an arcade. This phone had a dial and it felt funny on his finger; he had to work to remember his number. It was difficult for him to hear over the bells and buzzers of the nearest pinball machine, but he knew that Claudia sounded funny when she answered.

"Oh, h.e.l.lo, Randall," Claudia said. "Where are you, dear? You're late. I've been so worried."

Randall hung up. He looked over to find the leather-jacketed, late-teens pinballer staring at him. "What are you looking at?" Randall asked.

"Nothing," the kid said, staring right him. "I'm looking at nothing."

Randall got mad for a second, then became afraid. He left the arcade and decided the public library was a good place to hide and keep warm.

The very tall woman with the tower of books in her arms disappeared down the stairs, leaving Randall alone on the floor, he believed. He sat on a step stool in the middle of an aisle, a book full of pictures of India on his lap. He'd never wanted to go to India and these pictures of sand and elephants and cobra snakes and people with spotted foreheads weren't causing him to want to go there now, but still he wished he were there.

He looked through many, many books about Asia, suffering through the occasional visitor to his section of the stacks. Out the window he could see the sky starting to darken, the snow still falling. The library would close soon and he figured it was best to get out without being asked, so he left.

It was nearly five and the Osco would be closing. He wanted to catch Susie as she was leaving work and ask her to help, though he wasn't sure what he would be asking her to do. Perhaps she would allow him to sleep at her place. It was much colder now and the snow was piling up.

Randall was glad it was dark, feeling he could now move about more freely. His jacket was not nearly warm enough. If he had a credit card he could just take off, go to the bus station or the airport, but he didn't have one. A life on the lam didn't sound so bad, city to city, new people.

Susie was bundled up in her long, down parka, coming out of the front door of the drugstore. The coat was a dark pink and seemed to match her eye makeup. Randall was standing at the corner of the building, at the entrance to the alley, in the shadows.

"Susie," he whispered to her, startling her. "Susie, it's me, Randall Randall."

She looked at him, clutching her bag. "Mr. Randall?" Susie did not come closer. "The police came in today asking questions about you."

"I need your help, Susie."

Susie looked up and down the street, took a step away. "Listen, I've got to go."

"I didn't do anything, Susie."

The young woman walked away, looking over her shoulder at Randall. The snow swirled around her.

Randall went back into the alley and fell to sitting on the ground, leaning against the brick wall, between a green Dumpster like the one behind his building and some empty cardboard cartons. He heard the back door of the Osco open and he pushed and pulled himself to his feet, his legs stiff. He saw w.i.l.l.y, the druggist locking up.

"w.i.l.l.y," Randall said.

"Who's there?"

"It's me."

w.i.l.l.y put the package he was holding into his other hand and reached into his pocket.

Randall moved closer. The flash hurt his eyes. He felt a dull push at his middle and he was confused. He was sitting on the ground, looking down at his lap. His ears were ringing. He moved his eyes back up to see w.i.l.l.y. The fat man showed fear. Randall saw something drop from the fat man's hand. Randall rocked in the cold air, then lay back, looked up at the snow.

Percival Everett is Distinguished Professor of English at the University of Southern California and the author of more than twenty books, including Percival Everett by Virgil Russell, a.s.sumption, I Am Not Sidney Poitier, The Water Cure, Wounded, and Erasure.

d.a.m.ned If I Do has been typeset in Charlotte, a typeface designed by Michael Gills.

Book design by Wendy Holdman. Composition by Stanton Publication Services, Inc. Manufactured by BookMobile on acid-free paper.

Other Books by Percival Everett.

Percival Everett by Virgil Russell.

a.s.sumption I Am Not Sidney Poitier.

The Water Cure Wounded.

American Desert.

A History of the African-American People (Proposed) by Strom Thurmond As Told to Percival Everett and James Kincaid.

Erasure.

Glyph Frenzy Watershed.

Big Picture The Body of Martin Aguilera.

G.o.d's Country For Her Dark Skin.

Zulus The Weather and the Women Treat Me Fair.

Cutting Lisa Walk Me to the Distance Suder.

The One That Got Away.

d.a.m.ned if i do.

STORIES.

Percival Everett.